When I first heard Glassing a year or two ago, lauded especially by members of Holy Fawn, I listened to a single song before deciding it was too acerbic and abrasive for my tastes. I’m not sure what compelled me to give them a second chance months later, but the switch flipped instantly. I became obsessed with Twin Dream, playing it over and over until that single disc was no longer enough to satisfy my thirst. I bought the first copy of Light and Death I could find, but failed to find Spotted Horse anywhere.
That is, until last month when I received an email alerting me to a reissue, and the speed at which I ordered it might have set some sort of land speed record. And where I have previously lauded Twin Dream as a singular masterpiece that the earlier records merely reflect dimly, Painted Horse might only be weaker by a degree of decimals.
I spent much of my adult life trying to separate myself from the word “emo.” Sure, part of that was an effort to grow beyond my adolescent self, but the much larger part was a protest to how the word had been stolen by the guylinered mallcore bands of the mid-aughts that I had no interest in at all.
As I’ve made my way to reviewing music more or less full time, I’ve noticed that my own tastes have started trending into stranger and darker directions. A few of the records I’ve fallen in love with recently exist in eldritch soundscapes that might sound abominable to the average listener (see also: Cremation Lily, HERIOT).
